


How Tim Drake got Engaged ( to the Lich King's ten year old grandson )

by orsaverba



Series: DamiTim Week 2020 [6]
Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, DCU
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Magic, Arranged Marriage, Damian Wayne is a good boy, Fluff, M/M, Pre-Slash, Stephanie is just so supportive of Tim's suffering, The underage tag is just for safety, implied future relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-31
Updated: 2020-12-31
Packaged: 2021-03-11 00:08:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,214
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28455846
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orsaverba/pseuds/orsaverba
Summary: "Let me reiterate," she said slowly. "You- Tim Drake -fought Ra's al Ghul, the Lich King, who isliterally knownas theKing Killer, and lived."Tim shifted awkwardly."And," Stephanie continued. "Said Lich King was so darn impressed with your adorable, lethal little self, that he sent you on your way with the promise of agiftin your future."
Relationships: Tim Drake/Damian Wayne
Series: DamiTim Week 2020 [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2038710
Comments: 21
Kudos: 269
Collections: TimDami Week





	How Tim Drake got Engaged ( to the Lich King's ten year old grandson )

**Author's Note:**

> DamiTim Week Day 6: **Child Bride**

Timothy Drake hailed from the Kingdom of Gotham, which lay sandwiched between an ornery sea and a capricious mountain range. He lived in a modest home covered in ivy, owned several chickens and one good-natured cow, and was fairly normal. Admittedly, he was also a witch, but besides that there wasn't anything remarkable about him at all.

"You fought the _Lich King_ and _fucking won_?!"

"I didn't _win_ , I just sort of... survived, I guess."

Stephanie Brown leaned across the kitchen table, long blond plait falling over her armored shoulder.

"Let me reiterate," she said slowly. "You- Tim Drake -fought Ra's al Ghul, the Lich King, who is _literally known_ as the _King Killer_ , and lived."

Tim shifted awkwardly.

"And," Stephanie continued. "Said Lich King was so darn impressed with your adorable, lethal little self, that he sent you on your way with the promise of a _gift_ in your future."

He was beginning to regret telling Stephanie about the whole mess, but he hadn't been sure who else to turn to. It was the kind of thing that heroes got themselves involved in, not scholarly magical sorts who mostly advised people and solved petty troubles for the common man. Magic aside, Tim was mostly a detective.

And normal. _Very, very normal_.

"I may have been being vague when I said he was sending me a... _gift_ ," Tim admitted. 

"Yeah, you were. What's he sending you?"

"You have to promise not to laugh."

"I will promise no such thing."

"Then I'm not telling you!"

Stephanie just stared at him. Tim pointedly sipped from his wine goblet. Stephanie continued staring. Tim folded like a house of cards.

"Fine, fine, he's-- He said he's-- Sending me a bride."

"The _Lich King_ is sending you... a bride."

"Are you just going to repeat everything I say, or are you going to be helpful?"

  
  
"I was considering laughing at you, honestly."

If he transfigured himself into a very small frog, he could theoretically drown himself in his goblet. Or maybe a mouse; he wasn't sure if frogs _could_ drown. That might be important to figure out, who knew when he'd need to turn an enemy- say a self-important, undead monarch of some kind -into a minute amphibian for reasons related to drowning them. Although, he'd have to drown _actual_ frogs to find the answer, which seemed a bit cruel overall-- Unless they couldn't drown, in which case he'd really just be inconveniencing them.

Stephanie socked him in the shoulder. It hurt.

"Ow! _Steph_!"

"You were zoning out again, you know I hate when you do that."

Tim had the decency to look abashed, which served as an apology. Stephanie shook her head at him.

"I really can't decide if I'm impressed or horrified. You messed the Lich King's plans up so good he wants to _keep_ you."

"Please," he pleaded. "Please do not remind me."

Surprisingly, his old friend nodded and refilled his goblet rather than continue mocking him. Tim traded it for the bottle.

* * *

  
  
  


The next morning, Tim saw Stephanie to the door at far too early for reasonable, hungover people to be functional. Of course, Stephanie was built of stronger stuff than he was, being a quarter elvish, so she was doing just fine.

She paused on her way out, turning back to ask him;

"So what're you gonna do when they get here?"

It took him a moment to understand what she was talking about, through the fog of an early morning headache, but when he did he only managed a shrug.

"Send them on their way, I guess," he said.

Ah, how naïve he'd been.

  
  


* * *

  
  


Tim blinked down at the robed boy standing on his front steps. 

"Hello," he said. "Can I... help you?"

Most people would probably be a little more concerned with the appearance of a lone child at their home, but Tim was accustomed to odd sorts. He assumed the boy was here off the advice of someone in the nearby village, who usually pointed lost and confused individuals in his direction. Solving problems was good work that paid well and, frankly, a child wasn't the strangest customer he'd ever had.

He _was_ a little concerned about the kid paying his fees, but that was a bridge to be crossed when they got to it.

When the boy opened his mouth and spoke, it was in an accented voice indicative of time spent in the desert country far to the east of Gotham.

"Is this the home of Timothy Drake, hedgewitch and investigator?"

"Yes, that would be me."

The boy cast a critical eye over him. Tim resisted the urge to squirm, feeling judged, and tried to remain patient under the strange child's scrutiny. Whatever he saw in his examination seemed to please the boy.

"I have been sent to fulfill the promise my grandfather made to you, Timothy Drake," the boy said, finally. "I am pleased to be in your care."

Tim felt the world tilt slightly on its axis.

"I'm sorry," he said, faintly. " _What_?"

  
  


* * *

  
  


"Ra's said he was sending a _bride_."

For the second time in so many weeks, Tim sat at his kitchen table, nursing a goblet of wine and discussing his encounter with Ra's al Ghul. Only this time, his companion was a ten year old boy, not his best friend. 

It really just made him want to drink more.

The boy- _Damian_ -had followed him inside when he abruptly turned on his heel and made a beeline for the wine rack. He'd glanced around the cluttered surfaces and jungle of flora that made up Tim's home with the same analytic gaze he'd turned on the witch himself, then made himself comfortable at the table. Aside from a brief introduction, he'd been very patient with Tim's need to down half a goblet of wine before proceeding with the conversation.

Now, he frowned, which made him look unquestionably adorable despite how serious his eyes were.

"He did. I am. Do I not suit you?"

There was literally no way to reply to that question without being at least a little inebriated. Tim polished off his wine.

" _You_ ," he said, pointing firmly. "Are a _child_."

Apparently, this was not the thing to say. Damian bristled visibly, sparks of violent green burning in his otherwise lovely eyes. When he scowled, it revealed teeth too sharp to be entirely human. 

"I am Damian al Ghul-Wayne, Ibn al Xu'ffasch.," he snapped. "I am more than a mere child."

"You're ten. By every definition of every country I am currently aware of possessing a legal system; you're a _kid_."

"Perhaps I am a- a _child_ in the literal sense," Damian admitted, which looked painful for him. "But that does not exempt me from my duty to fulfill my grandfather's oath."

"It really, really should."

Tim had neither the energy nor mental faculties to presently explain why arranged marriages, in general, were a kind of iffy process and the inclusion of pre-pubescent individuals made it downright _uncomfortable_ \-- but it did. 

Damian didn't seem to think so.

"As I have said; I am not like those my age. I was raised by the League of Shadows, I am fully capable of performing the duties required of a spouse."

"Every word you say is making me more concerned and _way_ less reassured." 

If he dwelt even a moment on the varied implications of Damian's words, he was going to march off across the desert and murder an immortal. So instead, Tim opened his mouth to change the subject, only to freeze as something the boy said earlier caught up to him. 

"I'm sorry, did you say al Ghul- _Wayne_?"

  
  


* * *

  
  


Stephanie's good grace, which kept her from laughing at him the first time they had this conversation, did not extend to the update. Currently, she was clutching his table, verging on collapse between gasping breaths.

"Why do you only ever laugh at my misery?" he asked mournfully. 

"Because it's _hysterical_."

Tim buried his head in his hands and groaned.

The name Wayne wasn't a common one. In fact, there was a grand total of one family in possession of it, and the patriarch also happened to be Tim's best customer. He was also, perhaps more notably, _king of Gotham_.

Not much convincing was needed to get Damian to accompany him to the capitol. It turned out that the one thing the boy wanted more than for Tim to accept him as a spouse was to meet his father, who he'd only ever heard stories about. Arranging the meeting itself wasn't difficult, though explaining how Damian came to be in his custody was, but it all worked out in the end.

Damian was immediately absorbed into the gaggle of siblings he barely knew he had and Bruce thanked Tim profusely for bringing him the son he'd never met. Gotham got a new prince, whom they were celebrating vigorously, and all was right with the world.

Except for the bit where Tim was, somehow, _still engaged to Damian_.

"You'd think King Bruce would've put a kibosh on the whole thing," Stephanie said, once she'd collected herself somewhat. "He's always been strongly opposed to old practices that indenture children."

"Prince Richard convinced me to leave them alone for a while. _Father-son bonding_ , he said." Tim looked longingly at the wine rack. "I don't know how he did it, but Damian got it into Bruce's head he _wants_ to marry me."

Stephanie looked understandably surprised.

"And King Bruce went along with that?" she asked.

Tim looked pained.

"He said it would "be an honor" to have me as a member of his family."

For a moment, he had the ridiculous thought that maybe his best friend would show him some form of sympathy. Then, her face cracked into a massive grin and she finally collapsed, laughing herself hoarse.

  
  


* * *

  
  


"Using your new status to harass citizens is illegal, you know."

"I would not need to if only you would respond to my summons. And besides," Damian sniffed. "It is entirely your fault I have this power anyway."

Which, unfortunately, was true.

In the three months since Damian Wayne took the throne as Gotham's fourth prince, he'd made a point to visit Tim's humble abode at least twice a week. He arrived on horseback, usually accompanied by a handful of guards, who dwindled in number as the weeks progressed. By now, it was just him and two others, both of whom lingered a ways from Tim's property, unconcerned with the goings-on.

He wondered if they'd be so relaxed knowing who some of his recent customers had been.

Since his confrontation with Ra's al Ghul- an event Tim maintained was _entirely unplanned_ -an entirely new subset of clientele had started approaching him in need of his services. In the first month alone there was a paladin seeking new purpose after felling her nemesis, a dwarf in need of untangling some nasty business dealings with another clan, and a selkie in search of her pelt. For someone who'd been in operation as long as Tim, the fact that the magick folk were only just now noticing him was a little bit insulting, considering he was one of them.

Still, he couldn't complain too much. The cursed puzzle box had been great fun to solve, threats of imminent disembowelment and eternal damnation aside. The case he'd worked involving a changeling had been eye opening, to say the least, and he hadn't even been aware that unicorns could _speak_ until a week ago. So that was interesting. 

Intrigue aside; the point was that these new clients weren't exactly _safe_ for the average person to be around. Especially not vulnerable children. 

But Tim hadn't had the heart to tell Damian to stop coming by.

He sighed.

"Well, if you're not going to leave, then make yourself useful."

Though surprised, Damian hastened to jog down the garden path to meet him, accepting the woven basket of herbs Tim handed to him. He hefted his load and followed the witch, who carried his own armful of ingredients, through the overgrown garden towards his home.

"Are you brewing today, Timothy?" he asked as they went.

"I am. These are wolfsbane potions for the werewolves in the village."

" _Werewolves_? Are they not dangerous? Should we not inform the guard?"

"Don't be speciesist, Damian," Tim chided. "They're people, just like us. Some of them just need a little help to get through the month without tearing their livestock apart, that's all."

  
  


* * *

  
  


Damian continued to visit at least twice a week, usually more if he could manage it, well into the winter. He confided in Tim about his new life in the palace, with his swarm of adopted siblings and his father's clumsy affection. He complained about his tutors and boasted about the skills he'd mastered, giving Tim unfettered insight into the life he was building in his new home.

Then winter passed and Damian's birthday came around in the spring. At his request, Tim traveled to the capitol to celebrate with him, bringing a gift fit for a prince; a newborn chick. He'd noticed how fond of his animals Damian was and figured that, given his general concerns about seeming young or weak, he'd never ask for one on his own. 

Before he knew it, a year came and went, and he could no longer imagine his life without Damian in it.

  
  


* * *

  
  


( Tim had it on good authority that the hen, who had been named Amalia, was living an incredibly spoiled life in the palace. She was also, apparently, the bane of the falconers, who for the life of them could not figure out how Damian had gotten her so well-trained. )

  
  


* * *

  
  


"Why do you refuse to marry me?"

Tim sighed and gently shut the ancient tome he'd been pouring over. They'd gone a long while without having this conversation and he'd thought, _hoped_ , that maybe this time that was the end of it.

"Damian..."

"No!" Damian snapped, cutting him off. "I have been patient and obedient, I have even held my tongue around that-- that _harlot_ , Brown! I deserve an answer!"

"You _like_ Stephanie," Tim pointed out. "And even if you didn't, she's my friend, not a harlot." 

"And you are avoiding the question. As you _always_ do."

A note of genuine hurt entered Damian's voice, one Tim was unaccustomed to hearing. 

He took a moment to look at him, take in his posture and the white-knuckled fists his hands were clenched into. They spoke volumes, even when his words didn't, and over their time together Tim had become fluent in this second language. What he saw now told him that if he brushed things aside again, he might do irreparable damage to this strange friendship that had blossomed between them. 

"You're a child," he started, because it had to be said, even if it was redundant at this point.

Damian seemed to understand this, because he nodded.

"For now, yes," he agreed. "But you are not that much older than I am."

"I _am_ , actually," Tim corrected, smiling wanly. "Witches age very slowly once we hit our prime. I've known your father since he first adopted Prince Richard."

This seemed to give Damian pause. He stared down at his fists for a while, then lifted his head and asked;

"If Richard were to try and court you, would you accept his advances?"

"Uh," Tim, feeling blindsided, blinked. "I don't really see the relevance--"

"Would you, or would you not?"

"Ah, well-- Supposing I returned his feelings in this scenario, then, yes?"

"Despite the fact you have known him since he was a child?"

"If I only interacted with people in my own age group, I'd be courting your father."

He could see where this was going.

"Hypotheticals aside; you're still only eleven, Dami, and your grandfather is the only reason you're doing this. The whole _giving me a bride_ thing is his way of trying to earn my favor, which he won't."

Tim expected anger, or indignation in response, but instead Damian only looked more earnest. He leaned forward slightly, hands loosened to press palms flat against the oak surface of the kitchen table.

"That is all true," he admitted. "But only in part. I have no desire to manipulate you, Timothy, nor has it ever been my intention to do so. I..."

And here, Damian flushed, darkening his bronzed cheeks in a very charming fashion. 

"I do not mind the thought of being your spouse. When you fought Grandfather, I was watching. I found you... captivating."

Tim, who had learned to read between the lines with Damian, was struck by a sudden epiphany. 

"You _asked_ to be the one sent to me?"

"I did."

In retrospect, it should have been more obvious.

Tim leaned back, absorbing this new piece of information. To think Damian's feelings were anything but genuine would be foolish, and irregardless of his stance on marrying him, he'd long been aware of that. Knowing that he'd come and offered himself of his own volition certainly eased a great deal of the discomfort surrounding the whole marriage thing, but--

But he was still a child. 

He would grow, feelings would fade, and one day they'd look back on this and laugh. Tim was almost sure of it. And he meant to say so, but Damian spoke first.

"If you will not marry me now... then will you wait?"

Tim stared into Damian's jade eyes, now free of those sickly shocks of unnatural peridot. The boy, who would not always be a boy, would one day be a man, stared back.

"You are a witch. You will live for lifetimes and keep your youth just as long," he said. "Surely. less than a decade for me to mature is not asking much of you."

And it wasn't, really. 

Five years until Damian would be considered a man, old enough to follow his brothers onto the battlefield if he so chose.

Seven until he was of a more proper marrying age.

In nine, he would be grown.

Tim could see him, in his mind's eye; tall like his father, but not as broad, all rich amber skin and striking, sharp-toothed smiles. If he wasn't human, if there _was_ something more to him, maybe it would begin to show. Magic, peeking through beneath the mortal façade. 

Asking Tim for a decade wasn't asking for much. It wasn't asking for much of anything _at all_.

"If I say yes," he began. " _If_ I say yes, I want you to promise me something."

"Anything," Damian assured him.

Tim reached across the table and took his hands, curling long fingers around his small palms. Damian's cheeks flushed again as he did, but he held his gaze despite it. 

"You have to promise me that you won't force yourself to keep feeling this way. That you'll grow and explore yourself like every other person does. If you fall in love with someone else, I want you to pursue them. If you realize we are better friends than anything else, you tell me that. You do not let your feelings for me _now_ become your burden in the _future_."

Damian squeezed his fingers.

"Loving you is not a burden, Timothy," he said. "But I promise anyway."

**Author's Note:**

> One prompt left! Thanks for sticking it out with me, dear readers.
> 
> Comments and kudos make my whole day, and if you want to find me elsewhere, I'm on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/orsaverba) and [Tumblr](https://orsa-verba.tumblr.com).


End file.
